


The way they met

by Pineapple_Strawberries_15



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Best friend Emma, Body Appreciation, Chubby, Erik is a Sweetheart, Food, M/M, Mutations still exist, Vodka, Weed, awkward first meetings, dork Charles, eating is just awesome, insecurites, mentioned Raven Darkholm, random party meetings, tea time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapple_Strawberries_15/pseuds/Pineapple_Strawberries_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Charles and Emma are best friends. <br/>Raven is still Charles' sister, but only mentioned- and not by name.<br/>Charles is a wallowing mess of heartbreak.<br/>Angel is throwing a party.<br/>Erik has the hots for Charles.<br/>Charles has the hots for Erik.<br/>Telepaths fall harder and quicker for people if they are under the influence and accidentally read someones mind, and like the mind.<br/>Erik is a big ol' German sweet heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way they met

When she walks down the universities halls, her narrow hips give the barest swoon- which in turn sends the sexually driven students to swoon. Her hair is like the shine of a star, her lips painted with glistening clear gloss, her slim limbs dressed in the white of brides- though her eyes portray she's anything but. This lean figure slipped up behind a young man, shorter than herself, her long fingers grasping his shoulders in what everyone would call a loving way. “Charles,” her stony face splits into a grin and he jumps in surprise, turning to her incredulously. 

“Sneakin' up on me again, Emma? I swear, you and my sister are out to get me.” His accent twireled English, but a Scotts undertone was not far off in his jumpy state. Emma pouted, “we are not, you just get so sucked into your books you never notice our tricks, which you should, by now. . .” she innocently began walking beside him and they bantered along the way, “so. . .” she began, “how are you, y'know, since your recent breakup?” They'd avoided it for a while, but it was her job as 'best friend' to help her own best friend out, and that meant prying into his life with a crowbar. . . subtly. 

“Fine. . . fine.” Charles ran a hand through his floppy hair, his cheeks red, eyes glassy. 'Oh honey, don't lie to me.' she projected. His lips thinned, 'I'm not fine, am I?' he thought back, 'I just. . . I don't want to deal with it right now.' And the subject dropped. Charles had a history of dating real class A dicks, and his recent dick dumped him flat as soon as he found out his lover was a telepath. Mutants were accepted now a days, sure, but a mutant that could get into your head? Hell no. You stayed silent about that sort of mutation! Besides the telepathy, Charles' ex had a string of faults with Charles, in fact, he made a list. 

-Charles' Faults-  
1\. Focus' more on work than anything else.  
2\. His books litter the floors of any place he stays at.  
3\. He drinks too much tea.  
4\. He stops whatever he's doing at the Queens tea time, Americanized, and goes to make a pot.  
5\. He made sure none of his classes occurred at tea time.  
6\. He dresses like an old man.  
7\. He becomes obsessively engrossed in something for days and ends up not shaving, bathing, or unless it's tea time, eating and drinking.   
8\. Because he's intelligent, he must think he's better. (Charles' ex had a serious supperority complex.)  
9\. He sees the good in people far too often, but if there's a bar brawl he's all for it. (Somehow Charles' ex seemed to think that he had to clean up Charles' messes. . . when really he just didn't care.)  
10\. Charles' has just gotten far too plush lately. (Be that as it may, it shouldn't have been on the list.)  
11\. He doesn't listen. (What his boyfriend really meant though, is that Charles refuses to be a servant or a punching bag.)  
12\. He dates stupid, power hungry, dicks. (Emma threw in that last one.)

“Plush? Plush?” Emma eyed the list incredulously when they had entered Charles' dorm. “Ridiculous!” She looked to Charles, who had been scrawny since they met as kids, and thought that though his legs pressed closer together when he walked as of late, his bottom stuck out more and hips flared, and he had a bit of a tummy and love handles- well. . . he was healthy. She didn't see anything wrong with his figure, in fact, she thought it suited him more than being a hunched twig did. 

Emma was often cold, bitchy, liked to screw with men, and tended to like her men middle aged- she wasn't perfect, she wasn't nice, but to Charles she was. She could lie as well as any actor, but not to him. Not that lying to Charles would work, since he too was a telepath. “Is it ridiculous, Emma? I am plush, aren't I?” Charles asked, as if this “fault” was more fault than any of his other quirks. “Yes, it is! You are not plush, Charles. You're healthy, and any man would be lucky to ravish you.” She marched to his fridge, stole a beer, and he just laughed, taking her word for it. 

Despite her words, Charles felt less and less attractive as the days went by. His heart weighed heavy, and he laid out on his bed more often than he used to. He used to go out, go to bars, have fun, but he just felt so. . . sad. Sadness, a deep set sadness. He did his work, sure, but other than that he found moving to be a chore. Eat, sleep, classes, eat, classes, tea and eating, sleeping in the library, home, school work, eat, press his face miserably into a pillow, sleep. “Sweetie. . . you need to get out. Stop this.” Emma pleaded with worry, moving hair from his forehead as he laid on his couch, glaring at the TV, “I don't want to go out.” he mumbled, scooting further under the comforter he'd dragged from his bed, covering his hair. 

Nope, he was not fine. Apparently the talk he first had to Emma about his breakup did nothing for his heart, and it sunk by the day. Emma sighed, ripped the comforter off of him and glared, “we're going to a party tonight, get up and get dressed.” She marched into his bedroom and to his closet, rifling through his clothes in an attempt to find something suitable for him to wear. “You have wallowed in heart ache and self pity for long enough, Charles! You are better than this! Get off your ass and get in here.” 

She heard the springs of the couch and the near silent footsteps before he stood before her. She looked him up and down, his hair was all over the place, his face covered with a brown-ginger mix of a beard, eyes red and dark ringed- then there was the clothes. Charles wore a pair of pajamas his ex had left behind, which were too big by far, she tssked and threw a dress shirt and a pair of dark jeans at him, “shower, brush your teeth, and put those on- we're leaving when you're done.” 

Charles' lips thinned, his all knowing, all seeing eyes rolled as he headed for the bathroom. By the time he was done and standing before Emma, she noted an issue. For one thing, he hadn't bothered with socks. Then the jeans were far too tight around his thighs, hips, and bottom, but luckily they still covered everything. The tight pants gave him a noticeable muffin top and his belly was folding down some of the fabric and pressing against the buttons of his shirt. Emma went back to Charles' closet and pulled out a jumper, tossing it to him, “you need to get some bigger clothes.” The jumper hid what it needed to, and he just looked like a soft, hug-able, youthful “old” man. Emma pinched his cheeks, “Alright honey, let's get goin', you look adorable.” 

The two headed, down to Emma's motorcycle, that was just as white as her wardrobe. That night Emma wore a white jean top that showed off her cleavage and smooth stomach, white boots, and skin-tight white jeans. She looked slim and wonderful and beautiful, and Charles wanted to be jealous, but it was Emma- so he couldn't be. The party was at a girl named Angel's apartment; Angel was a former stripper turned Burlesque theater owner and had given Emma a job waiting tables. 

When they walked through the door there was already a layer of smoke about the place, despite the opened patio doors, and the distinct smell of vodka. “Emma!” Angel came fluttering over, seriously, she literally fluttered over. She had wings! Charles, being a genetics and mutations major, was instantly fascinated and as soon as Angel inquired anything about Charles he started talking about entomology and how absolutely “groovy” her wings were, it made Angel laugh, and caught the eye of some rather attractive party guests, “he's cute, Emma.” - “Too bad he's gay.” Emma quipped back. 

It was surprisingly nice to be among the living again, so much so that Charles had drinking contents, played beer pong, and talked up a storm with others who would willingly talk up a storm to him. He even smoked a little weed, which in turn made him hungry, and he found himself in the kitchen with the other hungry guests, shoving food into his mouth unconsciously. He couldn't find it in himself to be guilty over what he ate, or his weight, that was until a tall and lean sex God entered the room. His smokey mind cleared, he felt the others mind, read some of it too without meaning to, and oh gosh, it was telepathic love at first read. Charles' heart and something else started throbbing erratically, “bloody hell. . . ” 'bloody hell. . .' 

The man turned, “was that an echo, or did you just say and think the same thing at me?” Oh gosh, the man had a German accent, another foreigner, Charles was in heaven. A really high heaven. “Gosh I hope there's drugs and booze in heaven,” he murmured, receiving a strange look from his eye-candy. “I don't think there's really a need,” eye-candy man said, offering a hand, “my name is Erik.” The telepath gladly shook the other mans hand, “I'm gay,” was Charles' reply. 

The room kitchen erupted in laughter, bloody eavesdroppers, and Erik was smirking like the devil himself, “alright, Gay, I think you should lay down for a bit.” Suddenly Charles was standing and moving to a really dim-lit bedroom. The bed was so damn soft, he groaned into it and hugged the pillow while laying on his stomach. 'Gosh, my pants are tight,' he complained to himself. “Why did you wear such tight pants, then?” Erik asked, and Charles jumped, not realizing the other was still in the room. He rolled over and sat up with a bit of difficulty, feeling his stomach widen and sag slightly over his waistband; he was suddenly very aware of how much his thighs rubbed together and how if he tilted his head at the wrong angle, he'd have a second chin. “Emma. . .” he answered honestly. 

Erik nodded, crossing his muscular arms, “well, they still look nice on you, but you shouldn't wear something you'll be uncomfortable in.” he received a wide eyed look from Charles' deep blue eyes, and it was Erik's heart that started thudding in his chest, not that he'd tell the other. “Thank you and. . .I know, I'll be going shopping soon to find more suitable pants. I'm sure to be needing them at the rate I'm putting on weight.” Erik's eyebrows rose, “you should be comfortable in what you wear. . . but you sound unhappy. Where I'm from, and in my heritage, people starved. It's good to be soft- you're alive. Healthy. . . and beautiful. There was a hum of silence in the room, though voices from the party filtered in.

“So. . .” Erik started again, “is your name really Gay?” He was grinning and that in turn made Charles grin, “No, it's Charles.” And suddenly Erik was sitting beside him on the bed, brushing a large hand against his cheek and through his hair and pressing a kiss against his lips. The telepath's face turned red, but he did kiss back, a lot, and it didn't take long for them to be sliding their tongues against one another and for Erik to be cupping Charles' bottom, or for Charles to be running his hands through Erik's hair. It was all very romantic and dirty and tasted of beer and vodka and smoke. 

By the time someone came knocking on the door, Charles was laying on the others chest, breathing heavily, and Erik was staring dizzily at the ceiling- slightly amazed himself. “Parties over, I need to get some sleep. Stop screwing in there and get out!” Angel called, though they hadn't actually been “screwing.” The two got up from the bed and stared at one another, then headed out of the bedroom and into the hallway, meeting a beaming Emma and an irritated looking Angel. “Exchange numbers and go away,” Angel said, crossing her arms and leading them back out to the living room. Most of the guests had already left. 

Erik took Charles' hand in his own and pulled a pen from his pocket, writing a his cell phone number quickly on the others pale wrist before bending down to kiss the short male on the cheek, “I hope you'll call me soon.” and then he left, dragging Charles' heart along, but then again- Charles had stolen his heart too.


End file.
